Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1887-08-04
A STRANGE TALE.

AAtAC thA AhttR tiiC lilOOiOCttlilS 1Cii
upon the surface of the water, great
spots of silvery whiteness amidst the
dark shadows cast by the heavy foliage
of the cedar shrubbery, which grew
between the almost perpendicular
rocks of the high banks.
Fifty feet above the surface of the
water they reared themselves, and at
one point they jutted forward as if to
salute each other, while the river be-
meath them deepened and narrowed.
AT this point a bridge had once been
thrown across-a bridge which had
become a complete ruin, one timber
alone remaining to mark the spot, one
long and narrow beam-it could not
have been more than six inches in
width-still maintained its place, and
in mute language informed the strang-
er that once there had been connec-
ton between Rocky Hill and the
mountains on the other side. Mis-
Upon the surface of the river there
was small rowboat, containing a
slender crouching form wrapped in a
dark cloak.
From the top of the bank upon
either side this rowboat would have
been invisible, but it was there, max
ing its way up and down past the
rocky buttress which upheld the beam,
always. avoiding the moonlit spots up
on the river.
The sounds of carousal were usurp-
ing the place of the quiet of the night;
the drunken Jest and the coarse laugh
ter breaking in upon the sentimental
notes of Home, Sweet Home" sung,
you would have averred, by some
lonely youth who was far from the
scenes of his boyhood, came plainly
to the ears of this silent watcher upon
the river, who, it seemed, could not
tear herself away from the sounds
which came from the saloon upon the
rivers bank.
Once only did the moonbeams fall
upon her fair upturned face,
1t was the face of woman who
should never have been in that wild
lonely spot. listening for the sound of
a voice that had grown to address her
with refined words which were the
cruellest of the cruel, waiting there
upon that lonely river, for-shc knew
not what.
Muriel Warner was the daughter of
wealthy parents. She had married,
when very young, a young man whom
she had worshipcd rs the embodiment
of manly beauty. Friends and rela-
tives had crowded about her with en-
vious congratulations and for a time
her life was perfect happiness.
But change had COME. Fred War;
ner was not what he had seemed.
Only few short weeks of happiness,
and the handsome husband plunged
into the widest dissipation.
Friends remained to her as long as
the money remained, and then they
began to hint that perhaps Muriel was
not altogether blameless.
This was something which the
spirited wife could not stand. She
broke with relatives and friends, and
chung to the dissipated man who was
her husband.
From one city to another he had
dragged her with him, and now he
had deserted her, and she had followed
him.
His was the cultured voice which
warbled of "Home, Sweet Home,
while his wife was penniless half
crazed creature out upon the river.
Aud she was penniless, for, regard
less of food or shelter, she had paid
out her last coin for the use of the
boat which brought her, unseen, yet
nearer to him.
A quick sharp report broke in upon
the mellow voice of the singer.
1t was repeated again and again.
1t was the report of revolver.
Muriel could hear the excited shouts,
the heavy trampling of feet, the bang
ing of door, and then the weird cry,
"Murderi"
Half paralyscd, the frightened
woman rested upon her oars just
under the beam which had once be-
longed to the old bridge.
The sound of heavy feet, rapidly
approaching, came from the bank
close at hand, and then dark form
rushed out between her and the moon
lit sky above her.
1t was mans figure, and he was
attempting to cross the river upon the
narrow beam.
Excited shouts and the tramp of
hurried feet followed him to the rivers
brink.
Stop shouted voice. II arrest
you for MURDER"
No reply came from the escaping
figure, which sped nimbly along its
narrow way.
A sharp chorus of revolvers fol-
lowed; shot after shot was fred and
then the dark figure wavered, the
hands grasped wildly at the air, and
then there was fall.
The water deluged Muriel with q
shower of drops as the body entered
the water. Shouts and the exultant
retreating voices held her attention
until she felt something creeping into
the boat behind her.
She turned and uttered a faint
shrek.
A man, and more than likely the
murderer, had taken possession of her
little craft.
"Give me the oars" said stern
musical voice.
''You are not wounded, then?" she
said, shrinking away from the drip
ping figure.
81 am not wounded" returned the
voice, and then silently the boat was
rowed into the deepest shadows and
up the stream.
Moment after moment crept by.
The moon went down, darkness fell
entirely over the sluggish waves of the
river, and yet the strange pair were
silent.
The high banks disappeared, the
stream grew narrower, and at length
the stranger drew the boat close up to
the shore.
'Madame,H said the figure, bending
close up to Muriel, ''tell me what YOU
think about this affair"
II think that you have shot some
one" replied Muriel, awakening par
TALLY from the tranee-ike feeling
which had crept over her.
"You are right. Tonight became
the murderer of Fred Warner"
Erred Warner is my husband, and |
was on the river listening to his-voice,
she said in the same calm tone.
"You will hear his voice no more.
The woman that he brought to Rocky
Hill is my wife.
And then Muriel knew the name of
the man who had rowed her boat that
night. -
Itwas Ralph Resseguie, the banker
and the millionaire, whose home and
happiness her husband had ruined.
She had never met him before, but
she had heard often of his generosity
and of his great wealth.